


Add My Effort To You

by Rainwater_Apothecary



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life, Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Autistic Joshua Freeman, Autistic Tommy Coolatta, Blood, Blood and Injury, Joshie knows Sign, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Sunkist is a service dog, Trans Gordon Freeman, Trauma, everybody gets therapy, freelatta - Freeform, gordon freeman is native/hispanic, tommy is korean, we don't like benry here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28940943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainwater_Apothecary/pseuds/Rainwater_Apothecary
Summary: Black Mesa has fallen, and The Science Team has to pick up the pieces of their lives and move on.Nobody said moving on would be easy.A Freelatta-centric fic inspired by The Weepies 'Be My Thrill' album.Came up with it while I was doing dishes and we freelattas need more content ok
Relationships: Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Please Speak Well Of Me

Gordon Freeman felt like his limbs weighed roughly 300 pounds _each_ as he dragged himself up his front steps.

His mother had been kind enough to watch Joshie for him, but god did he miss his baby boy. 

“Daddy!!” The four year old tore through the house on legs still pudgy with the fat of a toddler but with the underlying muscle of a boy child who craved the world and all its wonders. 

Wonders Gordon wished he had never seen, not anymore. 

There was nothing after Black Mesa. Nothing before the inhumane government facility that had paid for his MIT degree but cost him his soul. Bright lights dazzled his eyes, even now. 

He just wanted his boy. 

The Freeman men met in their characteristic bone-jarring thud. Gordon clutched his baby to his chest and buried his face in the hair Joshua had gotten from him. Even now, 5 years after the boy was conceived, Gordon’s long-removed womb clenched when his baby was in his arms. He didn’t mind it. Such was their bond, after all. They shared flesh and blood and big, brown eyes. 

Joshie’s hair smelled like that fish-shaped shampoo Gordon had bought him in a fit of nostalgia. Joshua had frantically waved his hands in excited approval at the purchase, so of course his abuela kept using it on his thick little curls. Thick little Coahuilican curls, his mama would say, he thought with warm affection that smelled like spiced cocoa and felt like the hugs his mama would give him from everything from a scraped knee to a failed marriage. 

Speak of the witch, he thought with affection. 

Abuela Freeman-Cortes looked every inch the pagan woman, from the colorful hippie scarf in her thick, slightly graying locks down to her silver toe rings. Gordon guessed he probably had as much gray hair as his mother now, after everything. 

Lord knows he was well on his way last time he looked in a mirror. 

The mirror in the hotel room he had left Tommy and Bubby and Dr. Coomer in. 

Mostly Tommy. 

He could tell the young scientist (well, 37, but when hanging out with Dr. ‘Who Even KNOWS’ Bubby and Dr. ‘You don’t even WANT to know’ Coomer, _dirt_ looks young) had more that he wanted to say. Big, black eyes looked at him from a face dusted with freckles and painted in the feeling of being lost. 

‘Me too, Tommy. Me too.’ Gordan had thought, before closing the door and walking away. 

The guy’s dad had given him a full prosthetic, and Tommy himself had carried him through Black Mesa pretty much on his back, ripping up his once-white-and-immaculately-pressed lab coat to staunch what bleeding the HEV suit couldn’t slow. 

And he had left him there, looking haggard and tired and lost, and so, so small. 

How a man as tall as Thomas Coolatta (the 3rd) (How _that_ happened with a last name like Coolatta he’ll never know) could appear small was a feat. And Gordon had left him that way. 

Gordon Freeman buried his face in his little son’s curls and tried not to cry. 

“Oh mijo,” Sara Freeman settled onto her knees with the quietly musical tinkling of the bells on her anklet – witch, in case anyone had forgotten – and gathered her boys into her arms with the smell of spiced cocoa and patchouli and the warmth that had gotten Gordon through his entire life, so why stop now? 

He couldn’t help but let a small part of his mind wish for Tommy’s wellbeing and that he didn’t think too badly of Gordon. 

He hoped. 

He wept.


	2. When You Go Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy has good days and bad days, but he's doing what he can.

Jeong-Min ‘Tommy’ Coolatta (the 3rd, just for the hell of it really) had been doing quite well for himself, end-of-the-universe and all things considered. He took his dog for walks, laughed with other dog owners at the park and assured them that while Sunkist (what an adorable name for an adorable dog! Yes, yes it was!) wouldn’t need medical care, he would be taking her home when things ended badly. Sunkist still bled, and well, _that_ was not good for his mental health or panic disorders. He visited his therapist on Thursdays, and got groceries on Tuesdays.

Sunkist was even registered as his service dog for his autism and PTSD. He’d been productive. 

Sometimes he even had ‘dinner’ with his father, though it was really just himself and Sunkist eating while the interdimensional being that had adopted him sat with them and talked. 

Then there were the not-so-great days. 

The days where he awoke covered in terror-sweat and had to sit shivering in every blanket he could grab without leaving his covers for hours. Nothing was safe. His doors and windows were locked. 

He showered with his back to the freezing tiles so he could watch for intruders out the shower curtain. His hair was rarely clean. 

He never wore white. 

He’d discovered that he liked yellow. 

He didn’t like milk as much as he liked soda, but his therapist said that sugar and caffeine could cause his anxiety and panic attacks to worsen. 

He couldn’t work. 

He managed to work up the courage to google the Nevada Desert Incident, but stayed far away from Wikipedia. 

He video chatted with Dr. Coomer and phone chatted with Dr. Bubby. 

He yearned for the rare texts he would receive from Gordon. 

T: ‘How’s life treating you, Mr. Freeman? :D’ 

G: ‘It’s going. Joshua says ‘hi’.’ 

End conversation. 

Then it happened. 

Three in the morning Tommy’s time, one in the morning Gordon’s, and his phone pinged. 

So maybe Tommy had allowed himself a cheat day on the caffeine. 

G: ‘Tommy? You there buddy?’ 

T: ‘Yes Mr. Freeman! :)’ 

Was he too eager? Probably. Could he feel his legs? Probably not. 

Oh. 

Sunkist was laying on his legs while he read in his recliner. 

At three am. 

Okay so he should definitely pour out the extra cola in his cup. 

Gordon texted like he spoke: a lot all at once with odd intervals. 

It was cute. 

Yeah, he _really_ needed to pour out all this soda. It’s just that Sunkist looked so cozy, and he wanted to stay awake for whatever Mr. Freeman – Gordon, in his mind more and more these days – and this therapist had already told him he had an addictive personality so he really needed to ditch the soda for the night. 

And pee. 

Both of which required him moving his poor, comfy puppy off of his legs. 

G: ‘Listen Tommy, I’m sorry.' 

G: 'I’m so, so fucking sorry.' 

G: 'You were so nice to me, even after the party and Mesa, and I just fucking _left_ you there, man.' 

G: 'Bubby and Dr. Coomer call me sometimes, just to check in and I’m really bad at handling them too so it’s not just you but like' 

G: 'I haven’t even heard your _voice_ in months' 

G: 'Just texts' 

G: 'And that’s different' 

G: 'I don’t know' 

G: 'Joshie’s in preschool now and I’ve had more time to just think and it’s' 

G: 'It’s tearing me apart, Tommy my man.’ 

Tommy knew it was just a phrase, but he couldn’t help the way his heart lept at the sentence he had just received on his phone. 

Or that could be the drink causing artificial tachycardia and his chest trying to sort through both that and the tingles in his legs caused by his fully-grown golden retriever jumping off of them. 

T: ‘What is, Mr. Freeman? That doesn’t sound good! D:’ 

G: ‘I’m just…I’m so tired, Tommy. Physical therapy is a bitch and while I’m eternally thankful for the prosthetic arm I’m reminded every time I look down of everything that happened and… yeah.' 

G: 'Tommy, I know he was an interdimensional being but we _killed_ a man you called friend.' 

G: 'We killed a lot of people down there, Tommy and I just can’t take it' 

G: 'Joshie looks at me like I hung the stars and I _killed_ people. Blasted them to pieces, set their bones on fire.’ 

T: ‘Mister Freeman, I don’t know how to ask this but…have you been seeing a therapist? I think it might help.' 

T: 'We did everything we could and you killed a lot less people than the rest of us.’ 

Mental images of the hundreds of identical faces of the sweet old man he still called friend flooded Tommy’s vision and he had to grip his sunshiney-yellow painted wall to keep from falling and smacking his head. 

G: ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.' 

G: 'But it’s' 

G: 'Tommy,' 

G: 'I’m trying to apologize here dude, can you stop being my better brain cell for two minutes XD’ 

He settled for sliding down the wall and covering his face with one shaking hand. Why hadn’t he listened to his own therapist? Soda was a _bad_ idea so late at night. 

T: ‘I make no promises, Mr. Freeman. :)’ 

G: ‘Gee thanks, Tommy. XD’ 

The repeated emoji made Tommy smile even though he could feel his heart rate definitely picking up speed. Sunkist must have heard it because she came over and rested her admittedly tubby chest against her master’s shoulder. He rested his head on her golden fur and tried to breathe through it. 

Gordon. 

Gordon was trying to _tell_ him something. 

G: ‘Anyway, yeah' 

G: 'It was super shitty of me to just. Leave you hanging in that hotel room. You’ve been nothing but kind and understanding and so _funny_ with me that I seriously owe you the world, man. I’m not the man my son thinks I am, but at least I’m alive to be that man.' 

G: 'I would have died in that sewage if you hadn’t waited for me.' 

G: 'You didn’t even know if I would survive and I have no idea what you went through or what you saw…when it all happened.’ 

The arm. He meant the arm. Tommy felt iron and copper coating his tongue and burning his throat at the blood-curdling screams that haunted his worst nights. Bubby, so brutishly strong in his deceit holding him back with arms beneath his arms and clasped behind Tommy’s head, holding him back, keeping him away from Gordon – their coworker, their _friend_ \- while Benrey snickered and took samples of the gore that replaced Gordon Freeman’s left arm. 

Tommy had been sick all over the industrial tile floor. 

He had gone faint but clawed his way to consciousness as he was dragged away from the exsanguinating man he had grown fond of over the past week. Gordon was a good man with a bad sense of humor and enough Doctorates to make Tommy pay attention. Not just anyone collected those like trading cards the way he did. 

He was hyperventilating and gasping silently now. 

His phone vibrated. 

G: ‘So like… thanks. You’re a great friend, Tommy, and G-Man is damn lucky to have you in his life.' 

G: 'Uh, here’s the number to my home phone, Tommy. Call me sometime. I’ll pick up this time.' 

G: 'Promise' 

G: '-G’ 

Tommy would reply to that when he could fucking breathe again. 

Sunkist helped him stumble to the bathroom where he was sick in the sink and shakily dialed Dr. Coomer’s FaceTime before deciding that was probably a _bad_ idea. 

He slid to the floor and sobbed silently in a world that was suddenly too loud.


End file.
